Run For Your Life

Running is a lot like life.  For starters, it’s a journey.  A long one.  If you look at the distance as a whole, you become overwhelmed.  There is too far to travel, too much to cover; your mind cannot comprehend it and you become more exhausted.  But if you focus only on what’s right in front of you, it becomes manageable.  If you can just make it to that pole, then to that shadow, where the two ducks are sitting, passed the man in the blue sneakers, to that third tree; it doesn’t seem so huge.  Little by little.  Take each piece one at a time. 

Sometimes you will run with some friends by your side, perhaps a lover.  Sometimes you will run alone.  Sometimes you will trip over – and yes, it will be embarrassing, but you will get over it.  Sometimes someone will be there to help pick you up, but sometimes you will have to do it on your own.  You may pass people, those you only see for a brief amount of time.  Others you will see a lot more of, perhaps even jog near them for a while.  And some will be there every day, just like you.    

You might hurt your ankle, or pull a muscle, but if you take good care of it, or take it easy for a little while, it will heal.  Sometimes breathing will be heavy, difficult, like knives in your chest when you heave.  Others it will be steady, controlled, fresh air filling your lungs and making you feel more alive.    Sometimes your legs may burn and it becomes harder, but you have to keep going.  You cannot stop because if you do, you’re not sure you’ll be able to start again. 

Nobody said you couldn’t slow down.  A slow jog is sometimes what you need to regroup your energy, to figure out where to go next.  A sprint may come when you least expect it; or perhaps you’ve been preparing for it for a while.  If you need to, you can walk.  Just keep strolling.  Feel free to wander; it’s not always about how fast you can go.  Sometimes you simply need to enjoy the ride.     

In Another's Shoes

I’m sitting on the picket fence.  Balanced precariously, deep in thought and scanning the street.  I watch the cars go by, twitching ever so slightly when they do.  It would be so easy to walk out in front of one by mistake; to feel the hot granite on the pads of my feet.  A fly buzzes around my face and I swat it away, agitated that it’s ruining this time for me.   I get distracted with it and try to catch it, or at least injure it in a way that makes it squirm around in circles next to me.    

I’m locked out of the house and I’m hungry.  Half an hour ago I was inside in the cool, then I made the mistake of leaving; forced to wait with patience I don’t really possess. 

I could go for a massage, around my shoulders and my temples; soothing into my skin and relaxing the muscles that are now spasming from sitting on the fence.  I would close my eyes and grin; maybe even softly purr my thanks. 

Suddenly I feel sick and I heave, losing my balance and falling; landing square on my feet.  I choke and splutter over the grass and then stagger away onto the pavement.  For a moment I still feel sick, but then I swallow and feel my strength coming back.  I have no idea when I’ll be able to get back into the house so I decide to go for a run around the oval, my feet padding against the grass, the sun warm on my back.

 

I become exhausted and plonk down onto my back, staring up at the sky and the trees and the birds.  My ear twitches.  I stretch out and yawn, flipping onto my stomach with bits of dry grass sticking to my back.  I wonder what it would be like to fly.  I wonder why the kid across the oval is kicking that ball.  I flinch when another car speeds passed.

I’m bored so I pick myself up and stroll back into the gates of home; listening to the dinging of a bell.  I perch on the front deck.  She should be home soon.  She’ll open the door for me and I’ll sprint in, munch on some food and collapse on the bed in the third room, stretch out and fall asleep, dreaming.    

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If you didn’t pick it up,
this is told from the point of view of a cat.
Now read the story again :)

When We Were Little; a 90's Kid's Trip Down Memory Lane

When we were little, the boys sat on one side and the girls sat on the other, because boys had cooties, but so did girls, and only the ‘tom-boys’ were cool enough to play soccer with the boys at lunch time. 

When we were little we watched Postman Pat, Noddy, Blinky Bill, and of course, Round the Twist.  There was the old Playschool, the good quality Bananas in Pyjamas, Thomas the Tank Engine, Pingu and Brum.  We watched the ones you might not remember – Budgie the Little Helicopter, Johnson and Friends, Gumby and The Trap Door.  And we loved them all, even though some may have creeped us out at the time.

When we were little, the girls played Mildred Hubble, The Saddle Club, Charmed and H20, Just Add Water.  Because yes, we were that lame. 

When we were little we collected CD’s.  ‘So Fresh’ was one of the best.    

When we were little it was still baa baa black sheep and ‘vegie monster’ was cookie monster and he ate cookies, except he didn’t actually eat them because crumbs just flew everywhere instead. 

When we were little we would fall asleep on the couch and wake up in our own warm cosy bed.

When we were little we sat on Santa’s lap at the shopping centre, telling him what we wanted for Christmas while we bounced with excitement, and somehow didn’t notice that his beard is clearly fake. But we believed because we were young and naïve, and why couldn't a fat man in red slide down the chimney to fill our stockings with gifts and our hearts with joy?

  

When we were little The Easter Bunny seemed legit, and the tooth fairy would leave us gold coins under the pillow or in a jar of water. 

When we were little, computers were chunky and bulky and to connect to the internet you had to ‘dial up’, listen to that awful noise it made and then you couldn’t use the phone.

When we were little, jumping off the swings whilst you were swinging pretty high was considered “living on the edge”.

When we were little we played Gameboys, with Pokemon and Mario, and the first ever Playstations, with Spyro and Crash Bandicoot.  Then Tamagotchi's were invented and we hung them around our necks from sexy lanyards.    

When we were little we spent more time outside and less time on electronic devices.  We played hide and seek and 44 home and sometimes even Wavo. 

When we were little the classic Nokia’s had snake.  It was a simpler time. 

When we were little, staying up passed 10pm was a treat. 

When we were little we weren’t allowed to have bare feet in the playground sand because there might be syringes, although I’ve never actually seen or heard of a kid stepping on one. 

When we were little we played marbles in primary school, trying to collect the most out of anyone; especially the big colourful ones. 

When we were little, it didn't matter who was dark skinned, who was white, who was Asian, who was skinny, who was fat, who had glasses and who didn't.  We were all the same.  

When we were little, that annoying tune from the Mr Whippy van was the most exciting thing in the world (and for some of us, it still is). 

When we were little we all were a part of, attended a, or heard about a primary school ‘wedding’, binding two little kids together in ‘holy matrimony’ (I doubt we could even pronounce that back then). 

When we were little we couldn’t step on the cracks or we would break our mother’s back.

When we were little we believed that if we pulled an ugly face and the wind changed, we would stay that way forever.

When we were little we didn’t have to worry about money, a job, what to study at university, the ending of relationships, or a broken heart.  We didn’t have responsibilities and dinner would always be on the table for us without a second thought.  We didn’t have to pay for fuel or watch what we ate or pick what to wear every day.  

And when we were little, we just couldn't wait to grow up.   

Budgie the Little Helicopter 

Gumby 

 Johnson and Friends 

The Trap Door 

Fate

She stands on a jetty, the wind blowing wisps of blonde and brown hair around her face.  In her right palm she clutches a silver necklace tightly.  She lifts her arm into the breeze, pulling it back, ready to throw.  Then she stops.  She slowly brings her arm back down and opens her hand.  It reveals a silver heart, from which two chains fall, silver balls on the end of each.  She gingerly touches the smooth, cold heart, grasping it in her fingers and running them down the chains to the baubles.  Then, in one swift, unthinking motion, she hurtles it into the sea.  She waits for the “plop” and then she turns around and sprints away. 

With a sparkling green mermaid tail she dives into the sea.  She opens her eyes underwater and swims as fast as she can to a point beyond the jetty.  She lifts out her hands and begins fossicking in the sand, clouds of murky clusters rising around her as she moves along the ocean’s floor.  The idea is that if she can find the necklace, if the sea doesn’t swallow it whole; lost for all eternity, then it is meant to be.  And if she can’t, well, then she just has to let it go.  

A Walk Along The River

In the early hours of the morning, the wee small ones in which the sun is just beginning to rise, a walk along the river is bliss.

A walk along the river lets you breathe.  In through the nose, out through the mouth.  It lets you focus on your breathing, the length, the depth and the sound.  The fresh air is cool from the river water and it cleans your lungs.  If you run, your breathing may be more frequent, but a pleasant walk keeps it even and steady.

A walk on the river lets you listen.  To the sound of feet pounding against cold pavement.  To the soft padding of those who run on the grass.  To the birds squawking as they begin to wake.  To the river lapping at its concrete edge.  You hear the sound of bike wheels spinning, the breath of those who walk by, and the soft voices gossiping away.  You experience the beauty, yet somehow still the quiet.

A walk along the river gives you time to observe.  Each and every person has their own way; their own style. Some jog with a friend, some jog alone.  Two young-adult women run side by side and gossip between breaths.  A middle aged man strolls along in a t-shirt and baggy shorts, while another wears proper running gear, passing him by with a puff.  A teenage girl walks her two fluffy dogs, an older women walks her staffy, and a man jogs with his border collie.  A group of old women with wide hips waddle past in a midst of conversation; each in a polo shirt, black leggings and a cap.  Along the cycle path lives men in lycra on speedy racing bikes, people on mountain bikes riding with leisure, and a man on rollar blades with elbow pads and knee pads galore.  A boy rides with no hands, texting on his phone and maneuvering around a corner with such control. A couple sprint together towards public exercise mechanisms, doing burpees the first time, skipping the next. Perhaps they are training for something.

An old jetty is falling to bits, fenced off, derelict and off-bounds.  A half-empty coke bottle sits out on the wood, a plastic bag its only company, abandoned by somebody breaking the rules.  Back on the path, some people coordinate their outfits.  Their singlet matches the laces on their shoes, their cap matches their socks, their shorts match their sports top. Others clearly don't care, like me in my white t-shirt, black shorts and bright purple shoes complete with fluoro orange laces.  Some have water bottles strapped around their waist, others carry one down by their side.  Some have Ipods in plastic cases wrapped around their arms, others clip shuffles to their pants.  You notice how everyone's step is different.  Some run in rhythm, other's change it up.  Some exhale when their feet hit the ground, other's can barely be heard.  Perhaps they run with their legs inwards, or with a little hop in their step.  Or perhaps they walk with definition and pace, or dawdle along with no particular intention at all.  Whichever way, at least they're all out here, for whatever reason, giving life a go.

A walk along the river gives you time to reflect.  Whether it be on your life as a whole, what you ate yesterday and hence what you will eat today, your career, or your choices, it provides peace.  It let's you think; perhaps you need to change some things in your life, perhaps a friendship needs some care, or perhaps your relationship is over.  Whatever it may be, walking in an environment like this one allows your brain to wander.  You might think about when you were little and used to ride your bike to Point Walter with your dad.  You might think about your first pet, how sad you were when they were gone and how somehow, you got through it.  You might think about how in primary school we all used to put drawing pins in the bottom of our shoes and pretend we were tap dancers.  You might think about what is bad in your life, but you also might think about what is good.

A walk along the river is good exercise.  You can decide to run if you like, but you don't have to.  You can decide where your destination will be, checkpoints, how and where you will travel.  And when you reach the end of the road; the walk is over and it's time to go, you will feel refreshed - maybe a little tired, or exhausted if you're not as fit as you thought - and you will be ready for the day.                

Complicated Communication

“If you’re calling with an enquiry, press 1”
“If you need help with something, press 2”
“If you’d like to do anything, press 3”
“If you want to keep pressing numbers just for the sake of it, press 4”
“If you’re sick of the repetitive, pre-recorded voice your head is reading this with, press 5”

Or, you know, don’t.  Hang up there and then, because I know I’m not the only one that hates going through the painful task of ringing a company, only to discover the endless number-pressing phenomenon.  Wouldn’t it be nice if you could ring a bank, or an office, or even the phone company themselves, and speak to a real living, breathing, human being who knows exactly what you need, what you need to do, or who you need to speak to?  Why yes, yes it would.  

According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, remembering that this is a government run database, the current unemployment rate is 5.8%.  That’s approximately 710 000 people who could potentially sit and answer your prayers.  Literally…well, your calls at least!    

The reason I bring this up is because yesterday my Dad rang Foxtel, because downloading a movie wasn’t working.  After going through the various numbers relevant to his enquiry, he was finally connected to a real person.  He explained his problem and the lady then asked him for his details, claiming that he isn’t the authorised person since my mother’s name is on the contract.  “I don’t want to access my account at all, I don’t need to be authorised, all I want to know is why the movie won’t download,” he said.  My mum then had to get on the phone and give the okay (like you could tell it was her anyway) and the woman on the phone informed him that she would have to put him through to someone in another department because she didn’t have the answer.  “I can’t download a movie for some reason, it won’t process,” Dad said.  The man on the other end said that this was a known problem, a lot of other people had called about it and they are working on getting it fixed. 

All that for one simple answer.  Now, shouldn’t the line have gone straight through to a person?  The first woman answering the phone straight away; containing full knowledge of her company and their current situation.  Shouldn’t she be in the loop? “I’m sorry sir, that is a known problem and there’s nothing we can do about it at the moment,” was all that needed to be said.  Half a minute on the phone and bang, the call is over.    

The last time I rang member’s equity bank, I went through about 6 of these button-pressing dramas before I got to speak to a real person.  All I wanted to know was whether I could purchase a debit card for use online (to support my online-shopping addiction, it’s really getting out of hand) connected to my existing daily account.  Twenty minutes later I am told that no, no I cannot purchase a card with that account, they are only available with an InterestME account; or something of the sorts.  But not to worry, my call wasn’t entirely pointless; the man I spoke to was happy to change my address in their system for me since I had moved house.  How kind of him! He must have failed to click save, though, because I am still receiving countless letters in the mail redirected from my old address.  No-where on their website or through online banking do I have the option to stop the mail, either.  They can spend the money on the paper, though, because there’s no way I’m going through a pre-recorded voice again, only to be disappointed. 

Reminds me of that episode of friends where Rachel tells Ross that she’s pregnant.  If you haven’t seen it, I suggest that you do.  In the episode, Ross doesn’t understand how Rachel could have got pregnant because they used a condom.  She then informs him that they only work 97 percent of the time.  Ross gets really worked up after that (which if you know his character is super entertaining).  “Ross maybe we should just talk later,” Rachel says.  Ross is hysterical, “No no, I want to talk now,” he says.  “In fact,” he picks up the phone, “I want to talk to the president of the condom company.” Rachel goes to leave, “Shhh,” Ross says and they wait for the phone to ring.  He bursts out, “Yeah I’ll press one!”  A perfect sitcom demonstrating the auto-voice phone dilemma that so many of us face. 

Once I called a company and ended up waiting for the “Press hash” signal because none of the above options concerned me.  The only thing worse than that is being put on hold with terrible background music playing while you wait.  Always happens at the doctor’s surgery, whose message tone also doesn’t even contain their opening hours, but that’s an entirely different story altogether. 

It’s moments like these you need… Minties!

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‘beep, beep, beep’.  

References:

Australian Bureau of Statistics. 2013.  Labor Force Australia, Oct 2013. October Key Figures – Unemployment rate, Unemployed persons http://www.abs.gov.au/ausstats/abs@.nsf/mf/6202.0 Accessed Oct 17.

PureBloodPaul. 2013. Friends – HD – Rachel Tells Ross She Is Pregnant. The One Where Rachel Tells S08E03. Warner Bros Television. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1HkqeORgn_U Accessed Oct 17.

As The Cliché Goes

The cliché goes, “squeeze into a pair of old blue jeans”.  I could talk about a pair of old blue jeans that don’t quite fit, but I won’t.  I won’t hasten to perform a cliché; I’ll do something new, something that makes you intrigued.  I will talk about a blue flower skirt.  My mother brought it back from San Francisco as a gift; cost her 20 bucks.  It’s fitted, straight, a pretty lightish blue with printed flowers on it.  They’re faint, daintily printed onto the fabric with a hint of sparkle.  Only one problem; it doesn’t fit me.  I can't quite fit into it, it’s too big for my sister and it will probably spend the rest of its life in a cupboard shelf, never to be worn.  I lack the motivation to eat clean, to exercise properly, to be fit and to lose the extra body fat that isn't needed. This is the story of how that could change.

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Last night I couldn’t sleep.  I couldn’t sleep because my feet were itchy.  Not like a small itch that you scratch and it sort of tickles as you do, but then it goes away.  No, I’m talking about the kind that has you tossing and turning in your sheets.  The kind that stings but itches all at once; the kind that feels good to scratch and yet when you stop it is worse than it was before.  You rub your feet together in anguish and frantically try to relieve the pain, but it doesn’t go away.  I ended up sitting in the bathroom at 2am with my feet in freezing cold water in an attempt to numb it away.  My feet were itchy because I have a rash.  I have a rash because I was taking an antibiotic called amoxcill whilst I have glandular fever.  I was taking amoxcill because they thought I had tonsillitis.  ‘They’ being the professionals we call doctors, the ones we are so easy and quick to trust.  Then they go ahead and  prescribe you the wrong drug.  Anyway, long story short would arrive at the conclusion that I have glandular fever and it has sucked. 

Only a person who has experienced the pain of the disease will fully understand it.  First, I had a cold, and then I turned eighteen.  This meant that I partied hard, drank too much and went to bed too late.  I developed a UTI (urinary tract infection) and that was most uncomfortable.  Shortly after that I spent a week in bed with a high fever, then my glands went up and morphed into golf balls.  I found myself hesitating to swallow because the pain was so excruciating.  It felt like a muscle being pulled to its maximum and then sliced with the sharp blade of a knife.  The nausea made it hard to sleep, and I realised how much we take for granted one's ability to breathe through one's nose.  It was hands down the worst few weeks of my life.  My mum was in San Francisco, whisked away in all its beauty, and I was bound to my bed, absolutely bored out of my brains.  I learned that taking panadol and nurofen together is really good because they react off each other and work faster.  I also learned how to perfectly time when to consume the tablets, for optimum pain relief.  (I also learned that you can take 8 panadol’s and 6 nurofen at the same time and not die, as long as you don’t have anything else for the next 24 hours). 

I watched tv, I watched shows on my computer.  I did a puzzle, I texted on my phone.  I went on Facebook, I tried to sleep.  And then I repeated the process.  I migrated from my bed, to the couch, to the mattress in my theatre room.  I yelled at my sister and her friend for sitting around on their computers on a beautiful day, because they were healthy enough to embrace it.  I cried and barely ate, snapped at my boyfriend because he loves me and then apologised because he didn’t deserve it.  I ordered my sister around and cuddled my cat because I was lonely.  I drank water through a straw and chewed on ice, blasted through 3 seasons of Breaking Bad and woke up at 2am every morning, barely able to breathe. 

The most important thing:   
I got through it.

Well, am getting through it.  Being sick muddles your mind, makes you moody and sets you backwards in life whether it be work, school, uni, friendships; whatever it may be.  It makes you realise that your health really is the most important thing.  Without it, you are nothing. 

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I’m writing this because often we forget how we felt in the past, and even though we vow to change the way we live when things get better, we forget what motivated us in the first place. 

When I am healthy again; when I am fully recovered, I am going to be so fit and healthy.  I’m going to embrace it.  I will eat clean, buy some motivational work-out clothes and hold on to the skirt that I can’t quite squeeze into.  I will work-out, do aerobics, and go for runs.  Perhaps I will do some skipping, or go for a rollerblade; whatever it takes. 

And when I’ve given up, and I’m sitting on the couch with a full bag of cheese Doritos (let’s be honest, they’re the best on the market), saying ‘YOLO’ and feeling fat and unhealthy, I’m going to read back over this.  I will remember the pain that I went through when I was unhealthy and sick, and remember why I’m doing what I’m doing.  I will put down the bag of Doritos, maybe get a celery stick instead and go for a run.  And in a few months’ time, I’ll fit into that old flower skirt with a smile.